


Real Food

by thefilthiestpiglet



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Dehumanization, Eventual Fluff, Food Issues, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Miscommunication, Multi, Post-TWS, Rape/Non-con Elements, Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-19
Updated: 2016-05-02
Packaged: 2018-05-27 18:57:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6295912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thefilthiestpiglet/pseuds/thefilthiestpiglet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fill for a <a href="http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/1634.html?thread=3746402#cmt3746402">prompt on the trashmeme</a>:  During his time at HYDRA, Bucky was only given liquids.  The only time he was given something else was all the cum during trash parties, where he was told that was "real food".   Cue the recovery fallout, when the doctor tells Bucky that his stomach is ready for real food...</p><p>WARNING: Steve and Bucky have a sexual relationship here, but Steve's perception of said relationship is very different from Bucky's.  </p><p>ETA: enough people wanted a happy ending that I added chapters 2-4, but it veers very far from the original prompt. :)</p><p>As usual, some embedded images.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Real Food

Steve waited for him outside the examination room. "Well?"

"I passed all the physical tests." He handed Steve a piece of paper. "The doctor says I should start transitioning to real food." 

HYDRA Commanders always gave him real food after a mission. It was much lower in caloric count than protein shakes, which made it easier to process him for cryo. By his count, he's been out of cryo for over a month now. Maybe this meant he's going back in?

He wanted to ask Steve, but Steve didn't like it when he mentioned cryo, or his previous commanders. So instead, he asked, "So when will the transition start?"

Steve looked up, smiling. "We can start at tonight's Avengers dinner if you want."

He felt a nervous knot in his stomach. This will be his first time officially having real food with the Avengers.

\---------  
  


> It was the first time out of cryo with HYDRA. He'd performed well on the physical tests, and completed a minor mission with perfect marks.
> 
> The Commander set a plate in front of him. "Want some real food?" He'd nodded and started reaching for the fork. The Commander frowned. He pulled his hand back. The Commander tapped under the table and said "You'll have to earn your real food, Asset."
> 
> So he crawled under the table and sucked off every member of the team. He didn't know to count then, but thinking back, it was roughly 150 calories.
> 
> When he crawled back up, the plate was still there. He reached for the fork again. This time the Commander slapped his hand, and made him kneel.
> 
> "This is real *people* food. Are you a person?" 
> 
> He hadn't really thought about it before, but the answer was clear from the Commander's face. He should his head. "No, sir."
> 
> The Commander smiled. "Good. Now turn around and show me your ass." When he obeyed, the Commander pulled down his pants and shoved the fork in him. The tines caused multiple lacerations. He held still. "That was for thinking you could use a fork like a person." He knew it was a lesson, and that he'd be allowed to remember this.
> 
> "So if you're not a person, what are you, then?" He searched his mind. He knew how to kill anyone in the room in at least a dozen different ways, but he didn't know the answer to that question. He shook his head. The Commander smiled and slapped his bare ass. "Go over there and fetch a dog bowl. Crawl." The HYDRA attack dogs had eaten already, and were mostly placid when he crawled over to their corner and picked up a bowl with his teeth. The leftovers in the bowl smelled good. He crawled back, the fork causing more pain with every move. His combat pants, still pulled down to his thighs, made his crawling ineffective. The other people chuckled. 
> 
> Kneeling back to present the bowl caused the fork to dig deeper into his anus, but he ignored the flares of pain, because the Commander smiled at him. "Good." He took the bowl, and carefully wiped clean the inside. The dog food crumbs: gone. "Now, are you a dog?"
> 
> He considered the evidence. He was kneeling and crawling like a dog. But if he were a dog, he would have eaten already with the other attack dogs. In addition, he knew how to use over 100 different weapons, and was trusted on solo missions. He shook his head. The Commander smiled more. "Good. You are not a person, you are not an animal. What you are, is a *weapon*. And a weapon is maintained with liquids. Don't want other stuff gunking up your system, you know?" 
> 
> It sort of made sense. He didn't like it when crumbs got between the plates of his arm. But his stomach still growled. The Commander chuckled and passed the bowl to one of the others. "Go next door and get the lab techs to jizz in this. We have to feed the asset some more real food." The Commander pulled out his cock, which was hardening again. "In the mean time..."
> 
> He crawled forward and took it in his mouth. 7 calories.

\--------

He looked at at the plate and the fork next to it at the dinner table. The plate was piled high with solids of different colors and textures. Then he looked at Steve. "I can't eat this." 

Steve didn't smile the way The Commander did. Instead, he sighed, got up, and set one of his regular protein shakes in front of him. "Here's a shake, Buck. It's a little less than usual -- the doc said it should incentivize you to should try at least a *little* real food." Steve gestured around the table.

He nodded and considered the room as he drank his shake. Widow, Vision, and the Witch: none. Falcon and Hawkeye would be 15-20 calories added together. Iron Man and Hulk... his eyes lingered on the Hulk. As his current self, the Hulk would be 5 calories at the most, but as the other guy.... that might be a substantial source of real food. Except that the other guy only comes out on missions, and he had strict orders not to bring out the other guy at other times. So maximum 30 calories at the table, plus Steve. Steve already made use of him at night, and with Steve's enhancements, he could get 30-50 calories then, easy. 

Steve didn't like it when he kneels in front of other people unless a mission called for it. The food options tonight were clear. "I think I'll get some real food later, Steve."

Steve smiled and touched his shoulder. "Yeah, maybe the stuff here isn't to your taste. We'll find you something later." His commander smiling was worth giving up 30 calories.

\------

He woke up in the morning on the floor beside Steve's bed, smelling a tantalizing aroma from the kitchen. His stomach rumbled. He'd gotten 50 calories from Steve last night, but he needed more.

He went out to find that Steve had made a lot of people food. Usually in the morning Steve'd just drink a fruit shake while he drank his usual protein shake, but it looked like Steve had been cooking for the past hour.

"Oh hey, Bucky, you're awake! You sleep all right on the floor? Bed still too soft for you?" Steve always asked that question in the morning.

"The floor is where I sleep. It is acceptable." He didn't know how else to answer this question. He slept on the floor, because he was an asset. Ideally, he would sleep in a cryo chamber. But since Steve had forbidden him from asking for that after the first time, he took his field rest and maintenance as best he could, like a proper weapon.

But it's hard, being with Steve. HYDRA did not distract him with all of this people food and other people stuff. The Avengers were not set up for weapons at all. If they had proper weapons storage, he wouldn't have to be out of cryo so long, drinking one bland shake after another. Except now, it's worse -- they're cutting down his shake intake and making him find real food on his own. At least HYDRA provided the real food in a fairly expected manner.

"Come on, Bucky. Eat something." Steve gestured at the table. It was covered with ... blueberry pancakes, maple syrup, waffles with whipped cream, scrambled eggs, bacon, ham, sausage... He swallowed the saliva that came to his mouth. Unlike last night, he remembered the names of the people food here. And the taste. Before he was a weapon he'd had this type of food in his mouth. His stomach rumbled again.

Before, he would eat this sort of people food with Steve (the smaller version in his memories), though never all of it at once. And even then, he'd be giving most of it to Steve. His body remembered the taste, and he found himself leaning towards the plates. Fortunately, he stopped himself before he grabbed a fork.

When he stayed overnight with the Commander, he'd be invited to breakfast, too. The Commander would eat pancakes with syrup, and he'd eat his food under the table. The Commander liked it if he kept the Commander's cock in his mouth even after he'd had his food -- sometimes there was a reward of what the Commander called "apple juice for assets." Sometimes his food would taste like the way the Commander's food smelled.

"You don't like forks, do you?" Steve always sounded gentle when upset. "Wanna try a pancake?" Steve grabbed a pancake with his hand and shoved towards him.

Once when the Commander was upset he made the asset kneel and held a pancake against his face, cutting off his air until he nearly passed out. 

"I can't eat it, Steve." Back when he was a person, maybe, but now that he knew what he actually was.... he gulped down the saliva that had come to his mouth again. It was wrong.

Steve's face fell, so he hurried to start getting some real food. "It's okay, Steve," He got on his knees and pulled out Steve's cock. "I've got all I need right here." He smiled up at Steve and Steve smiled back. He's discovered that Steve is okay with him kneeling and extracting calories in private if he said things like "This is all I want, Steve" and "Come on I need this, Steve." 20 calories. 

Afterwards Steve gave him a shake that was 500 calories short and told him to try any of the food on the table.

By lunchtime his stomach was growling again. Steve was at a meeting all morning. Between the reduced dinner and breakfast shakes, he was down about 850 calories, and he didn't look forward to adding to this deficit. HYDRA's methods for providing real food was often painful and involved many hours on his knees, but at least he'd manage at least 300 calories each time. He found himself calculating the number of men who worked in the building, and whether he could solicit them for food without Steve getting upset.

"Hey Bucky, there's some sort of lunch shindig that Tony wants me at -- you want to come?" He looked up from the floor where he was reading a weapons manual. "There's going to be lots of people there, but also lots of different food options, and if you can't eat with a fork, maybe snacks are the way to go?"

An invitation. By Steve. To a party with real food. Sure, these parties were usually in the evening, but lunch is fine, too. This was probably the reward for knowing his place at breakfast. He got up and started removing his clothes. "What do you want me to wear, Steve?"

Steve laughed, nervously. "Um... whatever you want, Buck? It's not themed or anything."

The Commander usually preferred him in a simple collar, although sometimes he'd be dressed in a smart suit to be ripped off later, especially at the fancier parties. The food at the fancy parties always tasted better, because the people there ate better in general. Stark's parties were probably the fancy kind. But fancy parties were also very particular about what he wore. His most successful party was one where the Commander made him wear bunny ears and a contraption on his cock. He got a lot of calories that night.

"But ... if I'm not appropriately dressed, people won't come as much...." His stomach grumbled again. "That's might make the difference between 300 and 500 calories." He really shouldn't beg his commanders like this, but he was hungry and he had been a good asset when Steve teased him this morning with people food. "Please, tell me what I should wear." He stood naked in the living room and waited.

"Hold on, Buck." Steve had a look of intense concentration on his face. "What do you mean, the difference between 300 and 500 calories? They're going to serve you food regardless... y'know, all those little plates of..." 

He must have made a face, because Steve suddenly stopped talking. 

When he started again, it was slow and soft. "You don't like plates, either. No forks, no plates...." Steve looked at him, and it was almost as bad as when he asked for cryo. "Buck... what do you consider real food?"

"Weap..." He caught himself. Steve didn't like it when he referred to himself as a weapon, or as an asset. So he gave the simplest answer: "Liquids only."

"Liquids?" Steve's face turned pale. "So this morning... and last night, with me..."

He shrugged. "You wanted me to get some real food." He added, remembering to smile, "And you always taste really good."

"And what about all the other times this past month?" Steve's hands were shaking uncontrollably.

"I was getting enough caloric intake, so those were just bonuses." It was nice, a month of being so full that he wasn't constantly hunting for real food. "Besides, you enjoyed having me in your bed." In this way, Steve wasn't that different from previous commanders. Since he couldn't say that, he searched for something else. "It's great that you always come a lot, Steve." It made him feel very useful.

Steve turned abruptly and left the room.

He sat down on the floor again. He added food to the long list of things that Steve didn't like him talking about. He sighed. Unlike previous commanders, Steve never caused him pain, but there were so many other rules to figure out. He wanted Steve to smile more.

When Steve came back 15 minutes later, he was carrying two shakes -- one with his usual lunch portion, and the other easily made up for the calories he'd missed. Steve sat down heavily next to him and handed him the shakes. Steve's eyes were red and puffy when he looked him in the eye.

"Drink up, Bucky. Then we need to have a talk."


	2. Secondary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For some odd reason, people asked for more. So here's more: Steve and Bucky have that talk.

"Drink up, Bucky. Then we need to have a talk."

Steve watched him closely as he drank, and he felt hairs prickle on the back of his neck. This sort of close observation did not tend to bode well. The last time a commander had stared at him like that, the commander had then ordered a full suite of physical assessment tests, including tests for injury recovery times and pain tolerance. From an efficiency perspective, it had made sense for the medical staff to test for both by applying acid to his broken femur -- but it was not an experience he'd like to repeat. When he first reported to Steve, Steve had asked for an assessment of his basic physical condition, but maybe he needed more thorough tests now. 

He finished his lunch caloric intake and the supplemental shake, then sat and waited.

Steve had stopped observing him, and now had his head down. There was a small pool of liquid on the floor. At first he thought it was semen, but it looked to be the wrong consistency. Another drop fell from Steve's bowed head.

He's never seen a commander cry before. He's been told that his tears made him useless and pathetic, but Steve was neither. He was suddenly curious: would Steve's tears taste like his own? Or would it have a hint of sweetness because Steve was not a weapon? Regardless, Commanders typically expected him to lick up any liquids that they emit, so he leaned down and did so. 

They were salty and bitter, just like his own. This knowledge sat uneasily with him. Everything about Steve should be sweet. So, despite his full stomach, he tilted his head up slowly to nuzzle at Steve's crotch.

Steve backed away so fast he bumped into the table and nearly broke it.

"What's wrong, Steve?"

"Bucky... we shouldn't, this is wrong, you're not..." Steve was stammering.

Ah yes, Steve preferred that he use certain words. "Steve, I want your cock, I love the way it fills me up. I love the way it tastes." He crawled toward Steve again. Even if he didn't need the calories right now, it was good to shore up for dinner, in case the largess at lunch was a one-time thing. 

Unlike previous times, Steve darted back further and barked out, "Stop! No, Bucky!" 

He stopped and sat back on his feet. What did he do wrong this time? He scanned his memory. Steve invited him to go to a lunch party, he'd asked Steve for instructions on what to wear... then Steve had left and come back with protein shakes instead. Steve wasn't happy when he talked about real food. "You ... don't want me to swallow?"

"Uh, no. I mean, that's not... You don't have to, especially if you're just doing it because...." Steve took a deep breath to gather his thoughts. Finally, he looked up and said firmly, "Bucky, you shouldn't suck my cock anymore." It's frustrating how Steve used words like "should" when it's clearly a command, but each commander had their quirks. Guess he'd have to pick up the extra calories with someone else. "In fact, we shouldn't be sleeping together at all."

Steve went on to say something about how he'd talked to the doctor, and that he's back to his previous diet, but all of that barely filtered through the buzzing that went through his head from Steve's latest command. Steve didn't want them to sleep together. He had to bite his tongue to keep the "Why?" from slipping out. It is wrong to question Steve, there must be a good reason for Steve to not want him in his room anymore. But he was Steve's weapon, his place at night is by Steve's bed. It must be something about him that's wrong... 

He remembered Steve's shield, also on the floor by Steve's bed. Of course. He wasn't Steve's primary weapon. He didn't protect Steve as well as his shield did. He could be wounded and kept off of missions. Sometimes he malfunctioned. He also needed constant caloric maintenance.

He was secondary. Disposable.

"Please, Steve." He was begging for the second time today. "Please keep me by your bed. I belong to you. That's where I should be." Previous commanders had been very clear: assets don't beg for themselves. Weapons only fire when someone else pulls the trigger. He would no doubt be punished for this, but what could be wo'rse than being disposed of by Steve? He reached out and took hold of Steve's arm. "I'll try to be less of a burden."

"Oh jeez, Buck." He relaxed a bit. Steve didn't move to shake him off, and even used the special name. Steve might still want him around. He searched his mind for things that he did at night that Steve's shield couldn't.

"You fall asleep an average of 19 minutes faster when I am in the room. When you wake up from nightmares, my presence calms you." He knew mentioning food would upset Steve, so he didn't talk about how he could make Steve come within 5 minutes. "I want to sleep next to you." Steve liked it when he used that word. "I want to be close to you." A good weapon should always be near his commander, in case he needed to be used. 

"Bucky, I want to be with you, too." Steve's eyes were red and puffy again. "But you're less recovered than I thought, and ..."

It's true that he's been malfunctioning. "Is it because sometimes I scream in the middle of the night? You can always fix that with some physical or mental recalibration, or a simple gag would work." He remembered too late that Steve didn't like it when he applied weapon maintenance words to himself. 

As expected, Steve jerked away and stared at him in horror. 

That was it, then. He forced himself to maintain eye contact with Steve and squared his shoulders. Any further begging would just make things worse. It's all right. He could take what's coming. After all, it's not the first time he's been traded off. 

Steve's face went through a series of expressions before settling on sadness. He said softly, "Bucky, I'm not good at talking about this, and I think I'm making things worse." Steve rubbed nervously at his forehead. "Natasha is much better at this, but she won't be free until tonight. Mind waiting until then?" 

He nodded. "Sure thing, Steve." Reassignment to the Widow made sense. Her current weapons were effective, but she could make good use of him. Steve was kind: at least he wasn't reassigned to the Hulk.

He spent the afternoon cleaning and organizing his knives and guns. Even if the Widow didn't demand an immediate demonstration, it was always good to show himself to be an effective and ready weapon.

When Steve saw him prepping his gear, he took his shield out of his room and sat down next to him. "Hey Buck, can I borrow your polishing kit?" As he handed his kit over, he tried not to glare too much at the shield and the careful way Steve handled it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, it's going to get better soon!


	3. Reassignment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Nat comes prepared for the wrong problem but still manages to solve everything.

By the time the Widow arrived, he had all of his gear packed up by the couch beside him. She wore her civilian clothes, and carried a bulky bag. Steve met her at the door and hugged her briefly. He picked up his bag of gear and stood up to await further instruction. This was his first asset transfer, and Steve hadn't given him any specific directions. With Steve, he was generally able to guess the right thing to do, but he knew next to nothing about the Widow. He tried not to let his nervousness show.

The Widow took one look at him and frowned. Then she turned to Steve and her voice took on a falsely cheerful tone. "Steve, why don't you go to the gym or something? I've got it handled here." Something was clearly wrong. Had he displeased the Widow by packing in advance? Or by choosing to wear casual civilian clothes? Previous handovers usually started with him fully dressed for combat or fully undressed for physical examination, but Steve didn't like either and he didn't want to anger Steve. Since the Widow was steering Steve away, she must be planning immediate and stern corrective measures to assert her new command. He assessed the heft and shape of her bag. It was perhaps an electrical device. If Steve took his usual hour at the gym, it should be enough time for electrode burn marks to fade.

But Steve stood his ground and stuck out his jaw at the Widow. "Don't coddle me, Natasha. If something's up with Bucky, I want to know." It was his commander voice.

The Widow and Steve stared at each other for 10 seconds. Finally, the Widow bit her lip. "Fine. But only if you listen from your room. It'll be better that way."

Steve looked over one more time at him and frowned in confusion before disappearing into his room. He found himself relaxing as he lost visual of Steve. The Widow was right -- it felt better this way. Now he could focus on his new commander instead of reacting to the nonverbal commands of his old one.

The Widow held herself loosely as she approached him, but he could tell she was examining him. He shifted to a more open stance and stayed alert for any other unspoken directives. It took some time to adjust to the communication style of new commanders. He hoped the Widow gave more explicit directions than Steve. 

"Hi James." She sat down in the armchair across from him, and gestured for him to resume his seat on the couch. She eyed the bag as he set it down. "I see you've packed."

He nodded. "Standard asset transfer protocol."

She nodded, unsurprised. Then she pitched her voice to an exaggerated rising tone. "Asset transfer protocol?" This is a clarification, then, for Steve's benefit. Was this her way of asserting her command? By making him say all the things that Steve disliked, the Widow was of reminding Steve that she was in control now. 

Weapons do not question where they are aimed. "I had limited time to prepare after Steve informed me after lunch that he no longer wanted me and is transferring me to your command. As a weapon, an asset, I come with gear for the field. Would you like me to demonstrate my uses right now, or in your quarters?" The old ways of saying things flowed naturally out of him It felt good, to be able to state things factually and clearly. He'd forgotten how easy it was to when he didn't have a long list of taboo topics.

He heard a pained noise from Steve's room, and he was halfway out of his seat before he remembered that he was the Widow's weapon now. "I'm sorry." He apologized as he sat back down. "Steve doesn't like it when I talk about being a weapon. I've grown accustomed to following his desires instead of yours. It won't happen again." It was a hard adjustment -- to talk about things that would have angered one commander in order to please another. He needed to focus: he had a new commander now. "As your asset, my job is to do the things that makes you happy." 

The Widow seemed satisfied by his answer. "So tell me why Steve didn't want you anymore."

He nodded. Asset damage report. It's important to know what's broken before it's handed over. "I was having trouble finding the extra calories needed to supplement my new diet, and Steve did not want to continue supplying my additional calories." At least, that was the reason as near as he could figure out. It sounded rather insignificant -- Steve could have just directed him to get his real food elsewhere -- it would have been a rather simple correction. He supposed that Steve could afford to discard him over these small malfunctions -- after all, Steve already had a superior weapon. 

He tried not to feel bitter as he searched for things he could say to make Steve's decision seem more justified. "I've also been malfunctioning occasionally. Screaming and other physical reactions at night." In case he sounded too broken, he quickly added, "It's nothing a wipe and some time in cryo won't fix." 

The Widow's eyes widened slightly. At the same time, he heard a thump from Steve's room. Would Steve be reprimanded for improper weapon maintenance? He tried to find the words to explain. "It's not Steve's fault for not giving me a wipe. He indicated that he disliked resets so I did not mention my need for them."

The Widow leaned back into her chair. Despite her relaxed pose, all of her muscles were drawn tight. Her tone remained light. "You need resets?" 

"If I go too long without a reset, the memories start interfering with my functionality as a weapon. This happens more frequently at night, though it has started happening more during the day, too. This morning I remembered the taste of people food. I didn't eat it, but it was a distraction." Maybe that's why Steve made that giant breakfast for himself -- it was a test of his functionality. Steve, unlike previous commanders, expected mental and emotional compliance in addition to physical. It wasn't just enough that he didn't eat: the fact that he was tempted was probably enough to make Steve file for an asset transfer. 

If the Widow would wipe him, things would be easier. After a full wipe, none of the people food would even register -- they're all irrelevant to his performance as a weapon. He wouldn't have memories of Steve distracting him from being useful to the Widow.

The Widow seemed to sense his unspoken question. She shook her head. "Unlike HYDRA, James, remembering is actually a desired attribute with the Avengers. Dealing with memories can be hard -- harder than just going blank and following orders." She smiled a small, wistful smile. "But we need to work through your 'malfunctions', and not just hit the reset button."

He held back a sigh. No reset, no cryo, just an endless stream of protein shakes.

"Speaking of dealing with malfunctions..." The Widow reached for her bag. He tensed. Would she want him to scream? Or beg? What position does she want him in?

The electrical device had far fewer wire attachments than he expected. Not a corrective device, then. It had several buttons, and a large inverted cup at the top, measuring about 8 inches tall and 3 inches in diameter. It's a bit unusual as far as recreational devices went, but it's not the largest thing that he's had to fit inside him. He wondered if she brought lubricant.

The Widow explained. "When Steve told me that you had food problems and only drank liquids, I decided to get you this. It's one of those top-end food processors." A glint came into her eyes and she leaned forward to whisper, "It can pulverize *anything*."

He examined the device. So it was corrective, though he's uncertain how. "Steve said that I was back on 100% protein shake diet."

The Widow scoffed. "Well apparently I'm in charge of your food now, and why have protein shakes when you can make *meat* shakes?" 

He considered the unspoken directive behind her words. "You want me to... make food for myself. Out of people food?"

The Widow held his gaze. Forced him to keep looking at her. "Is there something wrong with that? What is your 'real food' made of?"

In a way, he supposed she was factually correct. He knew that whatever came out of a person's body was processed food. That's why sometimes it tasted like the food that they'd eaten. He quickly evaluated the benefits of making his own food:

(a) They would not have to prepare special protein shakes for him. This drastically reduces the work of any commander or food specialist, especially for extended missions. He is already expected to maintain his own gear and his own cleanliness. This is merely the next step in automated weapons maintenance.

(b) No one would be burdened with the task of giving him real food. Hydra would sometimes arrange special teams just so he'd get enough. With the food processor, that won't be necessary. And wasn't the burden of providing real food the reason Steve didn't want him anymore?

He could appreciate the logic and efficiency of this device. He took the food processor and placed it next to his gun maintenance kit. "Thank you for the weapons upgrade."

The Widow smiled. "Good. I want you to start as soon as possible." She handed him the operations manual. "Read this while I go talk to Steve." 

The operation of the food processor was simple. He committed all the words and diagrams to memory in under a minute. Since the door to Steve's room was still closed, and weapons should not eavesdrop, he started reading the attached recipe book. Most of the recipes did not provide a full nutritional profile, and seemed to expect him to make several different shakes to complement each other. Highly ineffective, but since it came with the device, he memorized the recipes as well. Maybe if he proved that he could maintain himself without being a burden, Steve would request to transfer him back.

He was halfway through mentally cataloguing all of the people food available in Steve's kitchen when they finally emerged from Steve's room. 

He stood, grabbed his gear bag and the food processor, and waited for her to lead him to her quarters. She put out a hand and made a gesture to stop. "James, you'll be staying here."

Today has been full of incomprehensible commander decisions. First Steve didn't want him. Now the Widow wanted him to stay with Steve. He looked back at the Widow. "You want to return me to Steve?" He'd just said all those things to hurt Steve, to please her. He snuck a glance at Steve's hands. There was blood in his fingernails, and some swiftly-healing finger-shaped crescents in his palms. 

"Not exactly." The Widow explained. "Look, I have a lot of solo missions, so it is impractical for you to stay at my place." Her face was carefully neutral and her tone is casual. "I've talked with Steve, and he's okay with you staying here. But in the other bedroom." He couldn't tell what she actually wanted, so he turned to look at Steve.

"It's all right with me, Bucky." Steve's eyes were still a bit red and puffy, but he nodded at him, "If it's all right with you, that is."

He's been Steve's long enough to read all the unspoken signs: Steve wanted him to stay, and Steve wanted him to be happy and eager to stay. But staying was not his decision to make, and he's not sure he can muster the right feelings about it either way. Today has had too many conflicting directives, and emotions cause malfunctions.

"You don't have to keep Steve happy, you know." Once again, it seemed as if the Widow could read his mind. "He's not your commander anymore. In fact, it would make *me* very happy if you didn't treat Steve as your superior."

He tried to imagine what it would be like to share living space with Steve but not be his weapon. He's been loaned out by commanders before. "Will Steve be using me while you're gone?" Usually people didn't treat borrowed goods very well, although Steve might be different.

"No!" Steve flinched. It was perplexing, since Steve had no problem being his commander for the past month. Why did he look horrified now? Would Steve always look at him that way from now on? The thought made his stomach twist.

The Widow shot Steve a frustrated glance. "You are free to go on missions with the Avengers as you see fit, but not as Steve's weapon. He also won't be using you in other ways." 

She looked between them, sighed and rubbed her temples. Suddenly, the Widow became painfully easy to read: exhaustion and frustration ran through the curve of her spine, the droop of her cheek, the small pinch in her forehead. "Look guys, supervising confused supersoldiers isn't exactly my job. I like you two enough that I'll keep doing it, but right now I'm tired and I still have a mission to prep for." 

"James, I'll be back in a week, and we'll talk more then. In the mean time: start making your own food, stay in Steve's place, and don't ask anyone for their sperm. Text me if you have anything comes up -- JARVIS can set you up."

Then she turned to Steve and punched him lightly in the arm. "Stop worrying, you doofus. It's just a week, you'll figure it out. And when I get back... you owe me about 100 lunches."

Steve laughed and gave the Widow a big hug. 

After she left, he carried his gear back to his room and sat down on the bed that he'd never once used. He evaluated his present situation: the Widow appeared to be a capable commander. Although she is much harder to read than Steve, her direct commands are much clearer. He would have to wait until her return to learn her recreational needs, but in the meantime, he had a clear food assignment, and he no longer had to watch what he said around Steve. He asked JARVIS to put the Widow's phone number into his phone, and laid down on the floor beside the bed. There wasn't Steve's soft breathing to listen to, so it would take longer to fall asleep, but his stomach was full and he could make his own food at breakfast tomorrow. Final evaluation: Acceptable use condition.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh geez, the problem of staying with Bucky POV is that a lot of things happen off-screen. Oops! I'm happy to clarify any of what's going on with Nat and Steve in the comments or something???


	4. Texts from Natasha's phone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Natasha does some long-distance supersoldier wrangling.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Times are local to her, not to Steve and Bucky.
> 
> ETA: oops, at first I pasted weird. Formatting fixed now.

Texts from Natasha's phone. Times are local to her, not to Steve and Bucky.

 **March 11**  
5:56am  
\--- _Permission to sleep in Steve's room?_  
* Rationale?  
\--- _Fewer night time malfunctions. Sufficient sleep increases daytime functionality._  
6:01am  
* Approved.  
6:06am  
* If you get hungry in the middle of the night, don't get food from Steve.  
\--- _Acknowledged._

5:57am  
* James wants to sleep in your room? :0?  
5:59am  
\--- _I guess?? I've made it clear that we shouldn't be having sex. He insists that he just wants to sleep on the floor next to me. I thought you told him not to treat me as a commander anymore? :(_  
* He says it calms him down and reduces the nightmares. Are you okay with him in your room tho?  
6:00am  
\--- _Yeah, guess it's fine. Helps me sleep, too._  
* :DDD They do say old people have more insomnia problems. ;)  
6:05am  
* Tell me if he starts sucking your cock in the middle of the night, though. We're still working on his food issues.

\-------

 **March 13**  
10:03pm  
\--- _Nat, he's using the blender, but he seems to be just... blending peanuts? He just made a smoothie with peanut, spinach, and yogurt. Do you know what's going on?_  
* Dunno. I'll check. :)

10:04pm  
* James, please explain your current food selection rationale.  
\--- _Am selecting for most effective nutrional energy to value ratio._  
10:06pm  
* Starting tomorrow, I'd like you to start taking flavor into consideration when you make your smoothies.  
\--- _Guideline for flavor selection?_  
10:10pm  
* Whatever flavors that make you happy. It's okay if it's not the most nutritionally efficient.  
\--- _Acknowledged._

 **March 14**  
2:22 am  
\--- _I don't know what you told him, Nat, but now he's actually making good smoothies and seems to be enjoying himself. I think his sweet tooth is back. Thanks!_

7:50 am  
\--- _Nat what did you do he just asked me for my sperm_  
7:53 am  
\--- _He's telling me that it's a flavor that makes him happy???_  
7:58 am  
\--- _Nat help_

9:34 am  
* Sorry. Mission.  
* Did you guys resolve this? Still need my intervention?  
9:40 am  
\--- _It's okay. I dealt with it._  
9:42 am  
* Does this mean you jerked off into a chocolate strawberry smoothie? XD  
9:48 am  
* Steve, ignoring me doesn't work, I'll just ask him.  
* (You know, James actively enjoying your sperm and asking for it for himself -- that's consent.)  
9:53 am  
* shoulda just let him suck you off. better flavor 4 him ;)  
* Steve?  
10:03 am  
* He likes you, you know. He wants your D. ;D  
10:05 am  
\--- _WTF Nat he just said those words to me verbatim!!!!_  
* Well don't ignore me next time. :-/

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 **April 4**  
5:02pm  
\--- _Report: food processor is broken._  
5:24pm  
* That's the third blender! What did you put in it this time?  
\--- _Grilled cheese sandwich._  
5:28pm  
* James, I want you to stop blending all of your food. Waste of electricity and good blenders. Turning everything into mush is what your teeth and stomach are for.  
5:30pm  
* James? Everything ok?  
5:31pm  
\--- _Please confirm: Asset food = people food._  
* Correct. You should use utensils, too.  
\--- _Acknowledged._  
5:36pm  
\--- _Query: Previous order to eat for flavors more than nutrition. Flavors might decrease in quality without blending: which order takes precedence?_  
5:40pm  
* If blending it makes it taste better, go with that. But you don't have to make smoothies out of bread, turkey, lettuce, and tomatoes anymore. Just make a sandwich and eat that.  
\--- _Acknowledged._  
  
6:39pm  
* I expect you to make me a nice borsht next time I'm back in town.  
\--- _Acknowledged._

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

 **May 29**  
1:06am  
\--- _Steve is on a mission without me. How do I become Steve's favorite weapon?_  
1:10am  
* First: Steve doesn't own you, you don't have to become his favorite weapon. Second: Have you considered that you might be Steve's favorite *person*?  
1:11am  
\--- _Have considered, but factually incorrect: I used to be Steve's favorite person. Cannot be current favorite person because I am a weapon._  
* Explain why you are a weapon and not a person.  
1:14am  
* You now eat the same food as everyone else. You cook. You have most of your memories back. You make jokes. You indicate your preferences for things.  
1:22am  
\--- _For weapons, functionality comes before memories and emotions. Not true for people. Weapons have a purpose for existence: as long as weapons are useful, they are maintained. Whether people have purpose or family does not affect whether they live or die._  
1:23am  
* There's more to life than survival, you know.  
1:35am  
* This is impossible over text. I'll be back in a week. We'll talk then.  
* In the mean time, go eat something you enjoy. Indulge in your favorite food.  
1:36am  
\--- _Not possible: Steve is on a mission. Second favorite food acceptable?_  
1:37am  
* James you jerk. You two grandpas deserve each other.  
\--- _Acknowledged_  
* Just go eat your cherry chocolate chip kahlua ice cream  
\--- _Acknowledged_  
1:38am  
\--- _:)_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I'm pretty sure this is the end here. The rest of the recovery fic you'll have to fill in for yourself.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm on [tumblr](http://thefilthiestpiglet.tumblr.com).


End file.
